4. Imogen

4

IMOGEN

6 YEARS AGO

A girl bursts from the dorm in a storm of tears, anger and heartbreak pulsing off her. I stumble out of her way, watching her run down the hall before turning back to the door. But as my hand touches the doorknob, it bursts open a second time, one of our classmates pushing past me to follow the crying girl.

"Agnes, wait!" he yells.

"Jeeze," I murmur, nudging open the already ajar door, ready for a third person to appear.

But I push inside without incident. The party is unfazed by the couple's outburst as I squeeze around my classmates. Some are already smoked and falling into revelry, while others mull about and chat.

We had our last class today; our graduation ceremony is this weekend.

I sidle up to Earl, the classmate who's hosting today's celebration, in his small kitchenette. He's one of the few fae who live in the university's dorms, having moved to the city for school from a small village out west. Most of us live at home, our parents not wanting us to live with members of other Houses, lest we get too close to our rivals.

"What happened there?" I ask, nodding my head to the door.

Earl doesn't miss a beat. "She caught George in the bathroom with Myrtle."

I grimace.

"Yeah, I made the same face," he chuckles. "Drink?"

"Please."

We're quiet as he mixes me a quick cocktail. It's far too strong and sweet, made with cheap liquor and mixers I'd never pair together, but it'll do its job.

I take a second sip, larger this time, and my lips twist into a puckered mess. A shiver racks my body.

Maybe I should have offered to do it myself.

"Nora's playing cards with the others, if that's who you're searching for," Earl says casually. He doesn't meet my eye, busy fussing with his makeshift bar. "They're at the dining table."

I shoot him a side-eyed look.

Nora and I had one class together our first year. From there, our friendship flourished. We're both the daughters of House Heads; there's a kinship there that I haven't found with many others.

And there's something else, too, niggling deep in my gut, when it comes to the heir to House Pride.

"You're far too observant for your own good," I say. "You sure you wanna stay in House Sloth?"

He laughs. "Not really my choice, is it?"

I shrug. "I could pull some strings with my mom."

Earl pauses his mindless organizing, looking up from the bottles to meet my gaze. "I'm not an empath. I don't have magic."

"Don't need magic to have good intuition. Or working ears and eyes."

I quirk a brow, trying to convey my meaning with as few words as possible. I'm not as good at this as my brother, despite our comparable magic. Conor's always been a natural at working a room. I got this far with lots of practice and lots of failure.

"I'll think about it," Earl says.

"Good. Door's always open."

I pat his shoulder, leaving it at that. My mother asked me to make friends in different Houses while I attended school, but I can see Earl being more than a convenient asset. He's a good guy, and Leo likes him too.

I make my way to the dining table. Despite the dorm being relatively small, it takes longer than I'd like to walk the thirty feet, having to field hellos and congratulations from our classmates.

Finally, I face the circular dining table where there's an animated game of cards going. Leo's clearly winning, his pile of poker chips mountain-high compared to the others. The only one even close to him is Josie. Even Nora only has a measly three chips left, while the others at the table only have one each.

Nora ups the ante, throwing another chip into the pile. The others groan, tossing their last chips in one by one. Leo snickers, not even trying to hide his lopsided grin. My magic picks up the dejected slog of loss radiating from the few guys at the table; it's only a matter of time before whatever money they bet is swept into Leo's pile.

But when they all drop their cards, it's Josie who has the winning hand. She swipes the chips into her pile, making her an even match with Leo. The others groan, shoving their chairs back and moving on to nurse their wounded pride with alcohol.

"That's not fair," Leo cries, pointing at Josie's cards.

"You're getting too cocky," Josie tuts. She taps her temple. "Remember who you're dealing with."

"Oh, you little cheat," he growls. It's all in good fun though, his gap-toothed smile never wavering. "You said I couldn't use my magic, but you're using yours?"

Josie shrugs. "I said not to influence anyone's emotions, not that you can't read them."

Our friends bicker back and forth as I slowly round the table. All the while, Nora watches me like a hawk. When I pause behind her, I lean forward and speak softly into her ear.

"I don't think I've ever seen you lose this bad."

She snorts, tilting her head towards mine. "I knew early on it wasn't going to go my way."

"So, you tried to get the others out to help Josie?"

"Don't tell Leo."

"Oh, trust me, I won't. He's a sore loser."

I straighten and her gaze continues to track me. Her head tilts up, while mine tilts down, my hair creating a blond barrier on either side of the two of us. Her lips quirk, the action making my throat bob with nervous energy.

"Want to leave?" I ask.

"Didn't you just get here?" she asks in turn.

I shrug. "I meant the poker table. I saw some others playing backgammon by the couch."

"I'm tired of playing games."

"We can watch."

Nora contemplates for a moment, then, a switch flips. She pushes her chair back, throws her last chips onto Josie's pile, and takes my hand in hers.

"You better take him for all he's worth," she says as she pulls me away.

"Good luck!" I say.

"Mo, you traitor. You're supposed to be on my side!" Leo calls after us.

I giggle as Nora leads us to the living area. The music coming from the gramophone is louder here; a soft but peppy jazz croons from the brass horn and wooden box where a record spins.

We stop in front of an armchair where an underclassman sits, intensely focused on the backgammon game being played on the coffee table.

"Get up," Nora orders.

"I was here first. Go find your own seat," the underclassman scoffs. His attention lazily shifts from the board game to us, and when his eyes land on Nora, they widen. His whole body goes still, and his mouth gapes open.

Nora cocks a perfectly penciled-in brow.

"Maybe try that again," she says, the threat clear in her voice.

She doesn't need to repeat herself, because the boy is up and out of the chair before she can even finish the sentence.

"Sorry about that," the underclassman fumbles. "I was going to grab a new drink, anyway." He pauses, glancing down at the full glass in his hand. He quickly throws it back, coughing when it goes down the wrong pipe. Then, he squeaks out, "Do you two need anything? Actually, let me go get you something anyway."

He scurries away, but Nora's already over it, simply sitting down in the chair with the grace of a queen. She tugs my hand, pulling me into her lap.

Okay… not going to complain about this seating arrangement.

"You scared him shitless," I whisper. "You need to be nicer."

"Not my fault everyone thinks I'll murder them if they look at me wrong," she says. "Let me take advantage of it when I can, Mo."

"But if you'd let me tell people you don't actually want to murder them, then maybe…" I drawl.

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Imogen."

Nora had opened up to me, slowly, over the past four years. I've gotten tidbits, small pieces that fit into a larger puzzle that's taking shape. Like how she's a patron of the city orphanage and makes sure the kids have all the clothes and school supplies they need. Or how she saved a classmate in House Envy when they were mugged on the street, all to swear them to secrecy about it after the fact.

People assigned the role of monster to her the second she stepped into society. She thinks she has to live up to that expectation forever. I disagree.

"I've said this before, but one day I will break down that wall you've got up," I say, tapping her nose with my pointer finger.

She scrunches up her nose, but I see the way she has to fight off her smile.

We settle into watching our classmates play their game. At one point, the underclassman comes back with fresh drinks for us—of which Nora deposits onto the end table without either of us taking a sip. Instead, she leans further into the velvet armchair, pulling me closer to her warmth. I'm angled in such a way that I can lean my head in the crook of her neck while still seeing the board game. Nora's arm wraps around my middle, gloved fingers dancing circles over my dress. And even with two layers of fabric separating us, the touch still raises gooseflesh.

Breathing in the heady mix of smoke and vanilla wafting off her skin, I fall into a peaceful trance. It's a slow build, the way my body reacts to her ministrations. We've sat like this before, under the guise of there not being enough seats—a silly excuse to touch each other.

Some think I'm being foolish, getting close to someone of high rank in another House, let alone a soul-stealer .

But I know there's nothing to fear if you aren't doing anything wrong.

My hands stay folded in my lap, centimeters from where her free one rests, motionless. It takes minutes, or maybe longer, but I inch my hand closer to hers until my pinky brushes the soft leather encasing her thumb. Her fingers tense, then relax as I twine ours together.

I mimic the swipe of her thumb on my waist with mine on her palm.

Her face tilts to mine. Our noses brush.

Nora's eyes shine like the brightest jewels, the warm light reflecting a multifaceted depth within them.

They flick down, darkening.

My tongue darts out to lick my bottom lip.

Her fingers dig into my side.

My breath stutters.

She leans in. I close my eyes.

Then we're crashing together.

She tastes of smoke and whiskey, and it reminds me of a winter night spent near the fireplace. Her lips capture mine in a kiss that's softer than I thought it would be. It's thrilling, but not frantic. She doesn't rush the way she explores my mouth.

She savors it.

My lips are cherished by her tongue.

Our kiss doesn't end as we explore each other. It's nothing crazy— we're still in the middle of a party . But Nora doesn't stop her hands from dropping to my hip or gently brushing over my breast when they travel up to bracket the back of my neck. And I certainly don't stop mine as they weave into her hair. It's smooth as silk between my fingers, and I relish the way she hums when I grip it at the root.

"Imogen."

I rear back from Nora, breaking the kiss. My lips are puffy, parted in shock as I blink up at my brother.

Conor stares down at us with a knowing smirk. His arms are crossed against his wide chest, though one hand comes up to cover his twitching lips as he clears his throat, clearly holding back laughter.

Nora's hands protectively pull me closer—if that's somehow possible.

"You're out past curfew," he says.

My head whips around, my body twisting in Nora's lap to peer at the clock mounted to the wall.

"Shit," I say.

I scramble off Nora's lap and realize the party has almost entirely died down. It's an understatement to say we lost track of time.

I guess no one wanted to interrupt us.

I don't blame them, based on the way Nora's shooting daggers at my brother, but Conor doesn't seem fazed. In fact, his blue eyes glint with mirth as they take in my rumpled state.

"Can you give me a minute? I'll be right out," I say, pushing at his chest and hoping he gets the hint.

I'm not being subtle.

He ignores me, focusing on Nora. He shoots her one of his signature grins, and I swear I hear the other girls in the room sigh wistfully in response. I may be Lust's daughter, but Conor is her heir, and he looks the part with his flawlessly styled blond hair and pressed suit that fits him to the millimeter.

Nora isn't as googly-eyed as the others, though.

"Good to see you outside of work, Nora," he says.

"Same to you," she says. Her eyes flick between me and my brother. "Imogen asked you for a moment alone, no?"

Conor chuckles with his tongue in his cheek.

"That she did," he says. He turns, raising his brows at me. "I'll be outside."

I wait until he's halfway to the door before I speak again.

"Sorry," I whisper to Nora. I twirl my thumbs together, suddenly a fumbling, awkward mess. "I'll, uh, see you around?"

She smirks. "Graduation's this weekend."

"Oh. Right. Yeah. Graduation," I say.

Where the fuck did all that confidence from before go, Mo? Get it together.

"You should probably get going," she says, ticking her head towards where my brother holds the front door open, waiting for me. She does a terrible job at holding back her playful smile. "He won't like me keeping you any longer past curfew ."

I groan a curse; she chuckles.

Nora stands and gently presses a kiss to my cheek, but she doesn't pull away. Her lips come to my ear, whispering, "Have a good night, Imogen."

"Goodnight," I murmur, basking in the feel of her cheek against mine.

Then I'm out the door, pushing past my brother and hoping that he's not using his magic. I don't want him to pick up the swirling mix of awkwardness and arousal still coursing through me. I fortify my mental shields, padding them with imaginary materials so that none of it can slip out of me.

Though I imagine the deep red blush blooming on my cheeks betrays my embarrassment enough.

Conor's footsteps and laughter follow me down the hall.

"Ma said to make friends, not lovers, Mo," he says, like it's some kind of joke. But his tone doesn't hold any cruelty, just the teasing lilt of an annoying older brother.

At least he didn't try to threaten her like he did my last girlfriend.

Conor catches up to me and tries to wrap his arm around my shoulder. I bat his arm away once, twice, then give up when I realize he's not going to give up. He envelops me in a protective embrace as we walk through the city streets, leading us back home.

"And I promise I won't tell Ma you're stuck on the heir to House Pride."